. 



%ty Crimes of &mstertiam 



THE 



CHIMES OF AMSTERDAM 
&nt> <©t{jcr Poems 



THE 



CHIMES OF AMSTERDAM 



&nt> ©flier $oentg 



EY / 

MRS. GEORGE A. PAULL 

(MINNIE E. KENNEY) 



vm 



NEW YORK 

ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH AND CO. 

1890 



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* 






x *v 



Copyright, i8go, 
By A. D. F. Randolph and Co. 



University Press : 
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



To A. S. W. 

" This is for you, because I love you so /" 

What matter if a poor and worth/ess thing 
The childish gift may be, — a broken toy, 

Or wilted flowers that die in offering ; 

Yet for the uttered reason of the gift, 
And for the love clear shining in the eyes, 

You heed not that it lacketh every charm. 
For love's sweet sake the worthless thing you 

prize. 
And so these gathered thoughts I bring, be- 
loved, 
Not worth the offe?'ing, did I not know 
Betiveen the lines your heart can read the 

words, 
" This is for you, because I love you so /" 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The Chimes of Amsterdam .... 7 

Nearer to Thee 11 

At Even by the Sea 16 

Contentment 19 

Unfinished Music 22 

Compensations 25 

My Plan 27 

Hast made us Kings 31 

He Careth 34 

The Manna 37 

The Fevered Hand 41 

Thou Knowest 44 

The Blacksmith's Work 47 

The Troubling of the Pool .... 51 

My Sermon 53 

The Sweet Old Story 57 

To my Baby 60 

Baby Asleep . 63 

An Evening Hymn 67 



THE CHIMES OF AMSTERDAM, 

Far up above the city, 

In the gray old belfry tower, 
The chimes ring out their music 

Each day at the twilight hour. 
Above the din and the tumult 

And the rush of the busy street 
You can hear their solemn voices 

In an anthem clear and sweet. 

When the busy day is dying 

And the sunset gates, flung wide, 
Mark a path of crimson glory 

Upon the restless tide ; 
As the white-winged ships drop anchor 

And furl their snowy sails, 
While the purple twilight gathers 

And the glowing crimson pales, — 



8 tty Ctjums of &mmtum. 

Then from the old gray belfry 

The chimes peal out again, 
And a hush succeeds the tumult 

As they ring their sweet refrain. 
No sound of discordant clangor 

Mars the perfect harmony, 
But each attuned by a master hand 

Has its part in the melody. 

I climbed the winding stairway 

That led to the belfry tower, 
The sinking sun in the westward 

Heralded twilight's hour. 
For I thought that surely the music 

Would be clearer and sweeter far 
Than when, through the din of the city, 

It seemed to float from afar. 

But, lo ! as I neared the belfry 
No sound of music was there, 

Only a brazen clangor 
Disturbed the quiet air. 



&\)t €\)imt$ of #m0ter&am, 9 

The ringer stood at the keyboard, 
Far down beneath the chimes, 

And patiently struck the noisy keys 
As he had, uncounted times. 

He had never heard the music, 

Though every day it swept 
Out over the sea and the city, 

And in lingering echoes crept. 
He knew not how many sorrows 

Were cheered by that evening strain, 
And how men paused to listen 

When they heard that sweet refrain. 

He only knew his duty 

And he did it with patient care, 
But he could not hear the music 

That flooded the quiet air; 
Only the jar and the clamor 

Fell harshly on his ear, 
And he missed the mellow chiming 

That every one else could hear. 



\ 



10 t\)t Ct)hm$ of 3m£tetfram* 

So we, from our quiet watch-tower, 

May be sending a sweet refrain 
And gladdening the lives of the lowly, 

Though we hear not a single strain. 
Our work may seem but a discord 

Though we do the best we can, 
But others will hear the music 

If we carry out God's plan. 

Far above a world of sorrow 

And o'er the eternal sea, 
It will blend with angelic anthems 

In sweetest harmony. 
It will ring in lingering echoes 

Through the corridors of the sky, 
And the strains of earth's minor music 

Will swell the strains on high. 



" iiearer to tfyte." n 



" NEARER TO THEE." 

" NEARER to Thee, my God, nearer to 
Thee ! " 
Thus shrilly sweet the childish treble 
rang, 
As pausing in her play a little maid, 

In fitful snatches, all unheeding sang. 
The tender prayer fell from her careless 
lips 
As thoughtlessly as song of bird in 
June; 
The childish voice rang out, now shrill, 
now sweet, 
Now softly crooning the familiar tune. 

" Nearer to Thee ! " The maiden older 
grown 
Half shyly pauses at the untried road 



12 " fearer to £ijee*" 

Which stretches out before her as she 
stands 
Upon the threshold of her woman 
hood. 
" Nearer to Thee," she sings, but skies 
are fair 
And love smiles on her pathway; so 
the prayer 
Is but the sweet refrain of an old hymn 
Without a thought of need or meaning 
there. 

" Nearer, my God, to Thee ! " Heavy 

the cross; 
The aching shoulders bend beneath 

the load, 
And as the hidden thorns press hard 

and sharp 
The tear-dimmed eyes can scarcely 

see the road. 
" Nearer to Thee," the quivering voice 

is weak 



" fearer to £ljee*" 



That earnestly uplifts the songful 

prayer, 
11 E'en though it be a cross that raiseth 

me," 
Content if so the heavy cross to bear. 

" Nearer to Thee ! " The shadows 
darkly gather, 
The way is lonely and the path is 
steep ; 
Chill are the night-winds sweeping 
through the valley, 
While still the gloomy shadows grow 
more deep. 
" Nearer to Thee ! " Oh, let each toil- 
some footstep 
Be one step nearer Thee, and through 
the gloom, 
Father, hold out Thy hand and lead Thy 
child 
Safely through darkness up to Thee 
and home. 



H " fearer to £tjee*" 

" Nearer to Thee ! " Above the coffin 
lid, 
Where drifts of blossoms lie like sum- 
mer snow 
About the quiet form that softly sleeps, 
No more of pain or sorrow here to 
know, 
With broken voices, faltering here and 
there, 
The hymn arises like a cradle-song 
That lulls to sleep the tranquil sculpt- 
ured form 
Whose spirit mingles with the heavenly 
throng. 



" Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to 

Thee," 
Through all life's journey every day 

to be 
Still nearer, though we walk upon the 

hills 



" fearer to tfytt" 15 

In the glad sunlight, or, still following 
Thee, 
Pass through deep valleys that the dark- 
ness shrouds. 
Nearer, still nearer, be our prayer 
and song, 
Till joyfully our souls shall wing their 
way, 
Freed from their prison-house, to 
dwell with Thee 
And near to Thee rejoice in endless day. 



1 6 at Cfeett by tije £>ea< 



AT EVEN BY THE SEA. 

Beside the quiet wave-kissed shore 

In distant Galilee, 
When evening's purple shadows stole 

Across the murmuring sea, 
Upon each sick and suffering one 

In that sweet tranquil hour 
The pitying Saviour's tender hand 

Was placed with healing power. 

Close to the great Physician's side 

The lame and suffering pressed, 
Eager to feel that wondrous touch 

Lest they should be unblessed. 
But on each one the Saviour's hands 

With healing touch were laid, 
And sin and suffering alike 

The gentle touch obeyed. 



#t €bm by t\)t g>ea« 



No more the loving Saviour treads 

In blessed Galilee, 
Healing each sorrow brought to him, 

At even by the sea. 
We cannot follow in those steps 

And bring at close of day 
Each weary pain and heart-ache sore 

At his dear feet to lay. 

Yet, pitying Christ, I bring to thee 

My suffering, sin-sick soul, 
For one touch of thy healing hand, 

That I may be made whole. 
Look on me in thy tenderness, 

And mercy show to me, 
As when of old thou healedst the sick 

Beside the quiet sea. 

O tender Christ, deny me not, 

Only one touch I crave 
Of that dear nail-pierced hand which 
hath 



3c (Btoen by tlje £>ea< 



Almighty power to save. 
Thy pitying love is still as great 

As when in Galilee 
Thou healedst all who came to thee, 

At even by the sea. 



Contentment* 19 



CONTENTMENT. 

I ASK not that my path should always be 

By waters still, 
Nor do I pray that Thou shouldst shelter 
me 

From every ill. 
I am content, dear Father, if Thy love 

Dost choose my way, 
If I may walk so closely at Thy side 

I cannot stray. 

I do not pray from sorrow's chastening 
touch 
I may be free, 
Nor of Thy pitying tenderness would 
crave 
To crossless be. 



20 CcmtetttmoTt, 

I know Thy wisdom seeth greater gain 

In every loss, 
And that it is Thy love and thought for 
me 

That sends my cross. 

When Thou wouldst have me serve thee, 
dearest Lord, 

I do not ask 
That I may serve as best it pleaseth me, 

And choose my task. 
Enough it is Thou deignest to accept 

Service from me ; 
Whatever task is set by Thy dear hand 

Shall joyous be. 

If Thou wouldst have me wait with folded 
hands 
Shall I refuse, 
Because my love for Thee some worthier 
task 
Would gladly choose? 



Contentment* 21 



Nay, since Thy will is wholly worked in 
me, 

And I am Thine, 
Can I not wholly trust myself to Thee, 

And not repine? 



22 tmnfimsfyeu $$u$it. 



UNFINISHED MUSIC. 

I SAT alone at the organ 

At the close of a troubled day, 
When the sunset's crimson embers 

On the western altar lay. 
I was weary with vain endeavor, 

My heart was ill at ease, 
And I sought to soothe my sadness 

With the voice of the sweet-toned 
keys. 

My hands were weak and trembling, 

My fingers all unskilled 
To render the grand old anthem 

With which my soul was filled. 
Through the long day's cares and wor- 
ries, 

I had dreamed of that glorious strain, 
And I longed to hear the organ 

Repeat it to me again. 



It fell from my untaught fingers 

Discordant and incomplete, 
I knew not how to express it, 

Or to make the discord sweet ; 
So I toiled with patient labor 

Till the last bright gleams were gone, 
And the evening's purple shadows 

Were gathering one by one. 

Then a master stood beside me 

And touched the noisy keys, 
And lo ! the discord vanished 

And melted in perfect peace. 
I heard the great organ pealing 

The tune that I could not play, 
The strains of the glorious anthem 

That had filled my soul all day. 

Down through the dim cathedral 

The tide of music swept, 
And through the shadowy arches 

The lingering echoes crept. 



24 tfllnfim£l)e& spustc* 

And I stood in the purple twilight 

And heard my tune again, 
Not my feeble, untaught rendering, 

But the master's perfect strain. 

So I think perchance the Master, 

At the close of Life's weary day, 
Will take from our trembling fingers 

The tune that we cannot play. 
He will hear through the jarring discord 

The strain, although half expressed ; 
He will blend it in perfect music 

And add to it all the rest. 



Compensations 25 



COMPENSATIONS. 

So weak, dear Lord, and yet, because I 

know 
The feeblest ones Thy loving bosom 

share, 
Because I learn to rest upon Thy arm, 
And trust more fully to Thy loving care, 
I am content. 

So tempted, Lord ! And yet, since thus 

I learn 
My only safety is to cling to Thee, 
And since my need of Thee brings Thee 

more near, 
I would not pray that I might always be 
Untempted. 

So sinful, Lord ! with some unhallowed 

thought 
Or wrong desire my every deed is 

stained ; 



26 Contpnttfattonsu 

I magnify the more the wondrous love 
Which washed away my sin and pardon 
gained 

Even for me. 

So rough the path my faltering feet 

must tread, 
I fain would turn aside and choose my 

way 
Did I not know that still more tenderly 
Thou leadest me, and so I cannot stray 
Beyond Thy care. 

So dark the night, but through the heavy 

gloom 
Thy radiant presence ever shines more 

bright, 
And Thy full glory is revealed to me 
Till I forget the darkness of the night 
And see but Thee. 



SPE plan* 27 



MY PLAN. 

In the tender hush of evening 

I sat in the twilight gray 
Planning the loyal service 

I would render the coming day. 
I would build a noble temple, 

So perfect in symmetry 
And matchless in grand proportions, 

It should last through eternity. 

The massive blocks and columns 

Should be great deeds nobly wrought, 
Each line of the graceful carving 

With loving devotion fraught. 
The hours should be golden censers, 

Their incense prayer and praise, 
While the moments a glorious anthem 

Continually should raise. 



28 $pg plan* 



Throughout the coming ages 

This temple, I had planned, 
Of my love to my royal Master 

A monument should stand; 
And the labor would be joyous, 

Since the thought of the work com- 
plete, 
Meet for my King's acceptance, 

Would be inspiration sweet. 

But the morrow came to me laden 

With many a task beside 
The deeds I had planned, and my duties 

And cares seemed multiplied. 
Only time for a thought of the Master 

To strengthen me for these, 
No leisure for grand achievement, 

No rest from anxieties. 

When the evening shadows lengthened, 
Where my temple should arise 

There were only shattered ruins, 

And I stood with tear-dimmed eyes. 






£0V plan* 29 



Not one block laid in the building 
I had planned with such loving care, 

Only these scattered fragments 
Were strewn before me there, 

Each lying as I had dropped it 

When the moments took their flight, 
Some dull and dimmed by shadows, 

While others were fair and bright ; 
Cares and joys and duties, 

Just what the day had brought; 
I had followed the Master's bidding 

And patiently had wrought 

But lo ! as I gazed at the fragments, 

My work which I had deemed 
So worthless to offer the Master, 

Since scattered chips it seemed, 
I saw that each tiny fragment 

Was part of one great plan, 
Each needed to form the pattern 

That through the day's work ran. 



3o gpg plan, 



Each bit of light or shadow 

Was a part of that pattern rare 
That formed the rich mosaic 

I unconsciously fashioned there; 
And while I had mourned so sadly 

Over my wasted day, 
Since I wrought as I was guided, 

My work was not thrown away. 

I need not sigh that useless 

Had been my fair design, 
Since I had wrought this pattern 

More fair than aught of mine. 
So I plan not for the morrow, — 

Just obey, and leave the rest 
To the skill of the great Designer 

Who knoweth what is best. 



H?a$t spalie u$ Jiitngs* 31 



HAST MADE US KINGS. 

(Rev. i: 6) 

I AM a king. No longer as a slave, 
With heavy chains to bind me to the 
ground 
And cruel lash to goad me to my tasks, 
Go I with laggard steps to duty's 
round. 

But as a king, I serve that I may rule, 
For kings have duties that must needs 
be done, 
And many a conflict valiantly to wage 
Before their laurels and their rest be 
won. 

I am a king. Then must I learn to rule 
And under firm control my spirit 
bring, 



32 ^as?t spate u£ &mg$* 

For constant self-restraint and passions 
chained 
More than all else doth truly mark a 
king. 

I am a king. Then must I learn to bear 
All things with patience, whether good 
or ill; 
Though trouble clouds my sky and dan- 
gers lurk, 
My faith must rise above them, tran- 
quil still. 

I am a king. Then must I learn to give 
Right royally. Largesse ! Largesse ! 
they cry, 

Who wait upon a sovereign. Would I be 
A king in truth, no call must I deny. 

I must not deal my gifts with niggard 
care, 
But as a king to give with lavish hand 



l^asft ^a&e us Jungs* 33 

To all who ask, my love, my gold, my 
prayers, 
Responding regally to each demand. 

I am a king. Oh, wondrous love of Christ 
That washed me in His blood and 
crowned me king ! 

Unworthy as I am of such estate, 

Awake, sad heart, and all exultant sing. 

I am a king, but nothing I can give 
To Thee in grateful offering is meet 

For Thy acceptance. Saviour, King of 
kings, 
I lay myself before Thy pierced feet. 



34 tyt Carets 



HE CARETH. 

The day had been long and toilsome, 

Each hour brought its burden of care, 
And the tasks that had rested upon me 

Were more than my strength could 
bear. 
I was weary and well-nigh exhausted 

With the weight of the heavy load 
I had tried to carry, unaided, 

Along the rugged road. 

Where I had failed in endeavor, 

All had been swift to blame, 
And none had a word of pity 

For the pain that racked my frame. 
And when my work was accomplished 

I had never a word of praise 
To cheer me in my efforts 

Or my drooping spirits raise. 



^e Carets 35 



With hands that were hot and fevered 

I wearily toiled all day, 
Longing in vain for a cheering word 

To help me on my way. 
My burdens would have been lightened 

By a word of sympathy, 
A clasp of the hand, an assurance 

That some one cared for me. 

I took up my well-worn Bible 

And sought for a message of peace 
That should soothe my troubled spirit 

And bid my longing cease. 
The last bright gleams illumed the page 

As the lingering daylight fled, 
" Casting all your care upon Him, 

For He careth for you," I read. 

" He careth ! " Oh, tender message, 

Full of comfort and cheer ! 
I had so soon forgotten 

A loving Friend was near 



36 tyz Caretl), 



Who could help me bear the burdens 
No other friend could bear, 

Who could care for all my troubles 
As no other friend could care. 

Oh, tender words of blessing ! 

My sorrows all grew light ; 
The thought of that constant Presence 

Made darkest paths seem bright 
The burdens I could not carry 

I would bring to Him to bear, 
And in lonely hours of sorrow 

I would trust His constant care. 

He careth ! Oh, wonderful promise ! 

Sweet story of boundless love, 
That can stoop to our petty sorrows 

From the glorious throne above. 
No grief or trouble too trifling 

At His pierced feet to lay; 
His love will lighten each burden 

And send us rejoicing away. 



ttyt $)amta* 37 



THE MANNA. 

The manna fell not on the mountain- 
tops 
Caressed by cloudlets, by the sunlight 
kissed, 
So near to heaven that the stern, gray 
peaks 
Melted away in tender amethyst. 



Nay, not upon these silent mist-crowned 
heights, 
So far above the hungering multitude 
That they could only view with longing 
eyes 
The promised bread of life, the angels' 
food ; 



38 tfyt spanna* 



Nor chaliced in the rocky cleft was 
stored 
The daily manna, where the weary 
feet 
Must scale the heights till flesh and spirit 
failed 
And sank exhausted in the noonday 
heat. 

Not so came down from heaven the daily 
food, 
But scattered 'midst the desert's shin- 
ing sands, 
Where each could freely gather for his 
need, 
And e'en a child could fill his little 
hands. 

With each day's journey came the daily 
bread, 
Strengthening and nourishing with 
angels' food 



£fje spanna, 39 



The weary people ever marching on 
Into the desert's dreary solitude. 

E'en so I think the manna falls to-day, 
Scattered among the duties small that 
lie 
Like desert sands before our feet each 
day 
For hourly needs, a bounteous supply, 

Not on-the peaceful heights sublime and 
fair 
That tower above the plain of daily 
need, 
Nor hidden, like wild honey, in the 
clefts 
Gained only by some brave and toil- 
some deed. 

O hungering soul, stretch forth thine 
empty hand, 
For each day's trials God gives daily 
grace. 



40 ttyz spanna, 



'T is always close at hand ; then trust 
His love, 
And let distrust to sweet content give 
place. 



t\)t jfebrnti l^anD* 41 



THE FEVERED HAND. 

I SIGHED, as I rose in the morning, 

At thought of the busy day 
Overflowing with cares and duties 

That could not brook delay; 
Each hour and minute was crowded 

With tasks that must be done, 
And I could not look for a respite 

At the setting of the sun. 

Not till the restless children 

Were quietly hushed in bed, 
And the task of mending all finished, 

Could I rest my hands and head. 
Ah, true is the homely adage, 

" Woman's work ne'er is done, 
While man's appointed labor 

Is only from sun to sun." 



42 £t)e jfefoent) ^anfc* 

So much to be done for the children 

Before they trooped away, 
With many a clinging good-by kiss 

To lighten my heart all day ! 
Oh, for a quiet moment, 

A season of thought and prayer, 
Before I began the busy day 

So full of trial and care ! 

But I could not pause for an instant, 

Though my head throbbed with its 
pain 
And my hands were hot and fevered ; 

I must take up my tasks again. 
As I hastily passed the table 

Where the well-worn Bible lay, 
My eyes fell on the open page 

And I carried the words away. 

They came to my anxious spirit 
Like a tender message of peace, 

And bid all the fruitless worry 
And anxious haste to cease. 



Z\\t jfetieret) c^ano* 43 

They told how the loving Master 
Had touched a fevered hand, 

And at once the course of the fever 
Was checked at His command. 

Then a swift-winged prayer went upward 

That the Great Physician's touch 
Would rest on my anxious spirit 

That was troubled overmuch. 
And I felt a gracious Presence 

Lightening my load of care ; 
His touch had stilled the fever 

In answer to my prayer. 



44 £t)ou ^ttotoetft* 



THOU KNOWEST. 

" Thou knowest that I love thee." Yea, 
dear Lord, 
Though I have wandered far and gone 
astray, 
Though I have left unheeded Thy com- 
mands, 
And followed on where self-will led 
the way. 

So prone to wander and so slow to turn, 
My love is far too poor and cold a 
thing 

That I should dare to bring it as a gift, 
An offering meet to lay before a king. 

So many thrones there are within my 
heart, 
So many idols have I there enshrined, 



£tjou imotoest, 45 



That where supreme and mighty Thou 
shouldst reign 
Only divided worship Thou dost find. 



And yet Thou knowest all things, yea, 
dear Lord, 
Thou knowest that I love Thee, poor 
and cold 
Although that love may be, and scant 
return 
For all Thy love and tenderness untold. 



Yea, Lord, Thou knowest how I fain 
would love, 
And how I mourn my cold unloving 
heart, 
That when I fain would love and serve 
Thee most 
Withholds the best and gives Thee but 
a part. 



46 tfyou iimofcoest* 

Wilt Thou not touch it with Thy love 
divine, 

Till it shall kindle to a warmer glow, 
And burn within me like an altar fire, 

No other love but Thine alone to know ? 

Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love 
Thee, though 
Like Peter I have often Thee denied ; 
Come Thou into my heart, and there 
enthroned, 
My Lord and King, forevermore 
abide. 






ttje Macfesmtttfs OTorfe* 47 



THE BLACKSMITH'S WORK. 

Down in the heart of the city 

The blacksmith's fires burn bright, 
And the strokes of the noisy hammer 

Resound from morn till night. 
Through all the din and the tumult 

The heavy blows come down, 
The rhythmic echo throbbing 

Like the pulse of the busy town. 

The old smith stands at his anvil 

From the earliest break of day 
Till the sunset's rosy glory 

Has faded to twilight gray. 
As he swings the mighty hammer 

He fashions with patient toil 
The links of a giant cable 

That has grown to a goodly coil. 



48 t\)t Mariamtittrs Work* 

Slowly and patiently works he, 

The task must be done with care, 
For some day that iron cable 

The strain of a ship must bear. 
Ten more links would be fashioned 

When his daily task is through, 
If his work were not so perfect 

And each link so strong and true. 

At last his work is ended, 

And the blacksmith lies at rest, 
The hands that were once so busy 

Folded upon his breast, 
While the cable goes from the smithy 

In every link complete, 
To hold some ship at anchor, 

And the strength of a storm to meet. 

On the deck of a goodly vessel 

It lies in a shapeless mass, 
In rusty coils where careless feet 

May spurn it as they pass. 



t\)t MackStttttir* Mlotk. 49 

But when the tempest gathers, 

And dark clouds threatening lower, 

While waves dash on the rock-bound 
coast 
With an angry sullen roar, 

Like a mighty arm of iron, 

Defying the fiercest blast, 
The cable strains till taut and straight 

It tests its strength at last. 
The smith is fighting the tempest 

With his work so stanch and true, 
Each link in the trusty cable 

Fashioned as best he knew. 

And now in the hour of danger, 

The cable stands the test, 
The smith still does good service, 

Though he is laid to rest. 
Because the work in the smithy 

With faithful care was wrought, 
The ship outlived the tempest, 

With her precious burden fraught. 
4 



50 ttje HBlacksmtttr* OTorfc, 

Oh, patient, faithful worker, 

This lesson teach to me, 
To do each daily service 

With true fidelity, 
That each day's homely duties 

However small they be, 
May be links in a trusty cable 

To last through eternity. 






&)t troubling of ttje pooh 



THE TROUBLING OF THE 
POOL. 

Not when Bethesda's pool a tranquil 
mirror lay 
Kissed into radiance by an Orient 
sun, 
But when the angel stirred its crystal 
depths, 
The wondrous power of healing was 
begun. 
Calm and unruffled by a troublous 
thought, 
Like fair Bethesda's pool, a soul may 
lie 
Bathed in the placid sunlight of content, 
While seasons of rich grace are passing 
by. 



52 G$z troubling of t\)t pooL 

But when the Spirit stirs the sluggish 
depths, 
Until its calm gives way to wild unrest, 
Then comes sweet healing, and the sin- 
sick heart, 
Dropping its burden there, finds peace 
and rest. 






fljty Sermon* 53 



MY SERMON. 

The evening bells were pealing 

Their call to praise and prayer, 
The sweet chimes softly stealing 

Through the tranquil twilight air, 
As I sat by my baby's cradle 

With many a wistful thought 
Of the hour in the quiet chapel 

With praise and worship fraught. 

I must miss the inspiration 

Of the earnest prayerful throng, 
I could not hear the sermon, 

Nor join the evening song. 
I must sit by the swaying cradle, 

Watching the quiet sleep 
Of my little one, my treasure, 

A loving guard to keep. 



54 Opt Sermon* 

The sound of the bell's sweet summons 

Had died on the quiet air, 
And I bent o'er my darling's slumbers, 

Lifting a voiceless prayer 
That the message I could not follow 

Might still be sent to me, 
And the blessing I sorely needed 

Should not be lost to me. 

Just then the little sleeper 

Cried out in childish fright; 
Some troubled dream had roused him, 

And made him fear the night, 
And I clasped the trembling baby 

As closely to my heart, 
As if some real danger 

Had caused his cry and start. 

I stilled his frightened wailing 

With loving tenderness, 
And lulled him into slumber 

With many a fond caress. 






spp Sermon* 55 

No grief could hurt my darling 

Although a fancied fear, 
My loving arms around him 

Would show him I was near. 

Then words of tender comfort 

I had often read before 
Came back like a spoken message 

In that quiet twilight hour ; 
My love for my precious baby 

Gave them a meaning new, — 
" As one whom his mother comforteth, 

So will I comfort you." 

Then I measured with clearer vision 

The infinite tender love 
That will stoop to our little sorrows 

From the heights so far above. 
What though they are fancied burdens, 

He hears our feeblest cry, 
And the loving arms about us 

Show us that he is nigh. 



56 $$y Sermon* 

My finite mother-passion 

Should be the plummet true 
By which I could better measure 

Love greater than I knew. 
I had missed the song and sermon 

That quiet eventide, 
But I learned a precious lesson 

As I sat at my baby's side. 



t\)t g>toeet olD £>tor^ 57 



THE SWEET OLD STORY. 

Read me some message of comfort 

While the sunset's tender light 
Is paling away in the westward 

And heralding coming night. 
I am aweary, aweary, 

And I long for a word of peace 
That shall bid all vexing worries 

And fretting cares to cease. 

Read to me of the Master, 

Of the gracious truths He taught, 
Of His mighty works of healing, 

With love and mercy fraught, 
Of His never wearied patience, 

His compassion and His care, 
That never turned, unheeding, 

From the poorest suppliant's prayer. 



58 tfje gfoeet olu g>ton?* 

Yes, read to me of the Master, 

For the story grows more dear 
As the clouds grow dark above me 

And life seems bleak and drear. 
When my heart is sore and wounded 

It comes like a healing balm, 
And over its griefs and tempests 

It breathes a peaceful calm. 

Now read me the dear old story 

Of the love that is mighty to save, 
And the never failing forgiveness, 

That I may grow strong and brave ; 
For how I have sinned and fallen 

No one but Jesus knows, 
And I long to taste the sweetness 

That from His pardon flows. 

Then I know that His love and mercy 
Are still as strong and near, 

And that my feeblest whisper 
Will reach His listening ear. 



t\)t g>toeet old £>tor^ 59 

And when I am sorely tempted 

Or sorrow doth befall, 
I know that the loving Saviour 

Knoweth and pitieth all. 



60 to my Baby* 



TO MY BABY. 

What are you doing, you mischievous 
elf, 

Sitting there with a thoughtful face, 
Before a book as large as yourself, 

Turning the pages with baby grace? 

Do you dream of the knowledge before 
you spread, 
Of the learning garnered before your 
eyes? 
What thoughts are filling your little head 
That you look so sober and yet so 
wise? 

With a mother's love your eyes I meet, 
Marvelling much how it can be 






£o my HBabp. 61 

That anything half so rare and sweet 
Should have come to earth to live 
with me. 



I fain would shelter that precious head 
From every cloud of sorrow or care, 

And make for those tiny rosy feet, 
A flower-strewn pathway, smooth and 
fair. 



Yet another book before you lies, 
The leaves of which I cannot turn, 

Though I fain would scan with eager 
eyes 
The lessons my darling has to learn. 



If I only could choose your tasks, dear 
heart, 
I would make each page so plain and 
fair, 



62 to mp HBabp* 

Naught but sunshine and smiles should 
have a part 
In the lessons my love should set you 
there. 

And yet I can trust the tenderer love 
That will plan each step of your future 
way, 
Which sees from the infinite heights 
above 
That joy is not the best gift alway. 

I trust His love though I cannot turn 
One leaf and see what is written there ; 

I know that no task is too hard to learn 
That is set by our Master's loving care. 






115abp 0sleep* 6$ 



BABY ASLEEP. 

Step lightly, for he sleeps ! The tiny 
hands, 
Restless and fluttering like a leaf wind 
tossed 
But scarce a moment since, might chi- 
selled be 
By sculptor's tool, so meekly are they 
crossed. 
Rose-tinted palms and dimpled fingers 
white, 
Lightly as snowflakes fall, they passive 
lie, 
Meet only for soft kisses. Little hands, 
What burdens will life bring you, by 
and by? 



64 Babp &#\tt$. 



Speak softly, for he sleeps ! Brown 
silken lashes fringe 
The snowy curtains, drooping low, 
which hide 
From baby's wondering eyes the strange 
new world 
With all its pains and pleasures yet 
untried. 
Dear trustful eyes, within whose violet 
depths 
Where innocence is mirrored, never 
lies 
A shadowed doubt of aught that life can 
bring, 
For life to baby is one glad surprise. 



Hush, for he sleeps ! The dimpled, 

restless feet, 
So tireless in their motion to and 

fro, 
Are quiet now. Oh, tender baby feet, 



HBabp £teleep* 65 

With all life's toilsome journey yet to 

You are so softly shielded from all 
harm, 
Yet not love's tenderest care can 
smooth the way 
That lies before you in the great un- 
known, 
Where with the sunlight lie the 
shadows gray. 

Hush, let him sleep ! The rounded 
rose-flushed cheek, 
The parted lips curved in a happy 
smile, 
Are all the fairer for the peaceful rest 
Which cannot be love-sheltered so 
erst while. 
Sleep on, my baby, while I guard thy 
rest, 
Thinking meantime upon the love 
that keeps 

5 



66 U5ab}? &#lttp. 

Over thy life more tender watch and 
ward 
Than even mother's love. Hush, 
baby sleeps ! 



Sin Cbcmng !^pn» 67 



AN EVENING HYMN. 

Gently fade the sunset glories 

Of the dying day, 
Like o'ershadowing wings of angels 

Creeps the twilight gray. 
Father, cradled on Thy breast 
Let me find in Thee my rest. 

Darker, closer, draw night's shadows ; 

Stars their vigils keep, 
Watching while the world lies silent, 

Hushed in quiet sleep. 
Father, sheltered by Thy arm 
Guard me safe from every harm. 

When the radiant morning kindles 
Flame of rosy light, 



68 #n (Abetting dentin 

Jubilant day flings out her banners, 

Banishing the night, 
May Thy love encircling still, 
Shelter me from every ill. 



THE END. 



^ 



